Thursday, April 28, 2011

Finally Free in DC

I'm fresh from an invigorating walk back from an earlier successful mission to fetch cupcakes from Georgetown Cupcakes.

The cupcakes are treats for Susan and Lauren. Encouraged by my success, I drop the cupcakes off in my room and use the maps app on my Iphone to plan my further evening adventures.

I'm striking out from the hotel further down M street in search of Vidalia. "Fine southern cuisine" is the promise on the restaurant cheat sheet handed to me by the concierge at the Fairmont. I'm thinking that it's high time for some real southern fried chicken which I don't believe I've ever had.

Before satisfying my hunger for comfort food, I set off on another quest. This is, after all, a blog about life on two wheels. If you know the Washington Fairmont, you may think I'm headed for the complimentary BMW bicycles that the hotel offers to its guests.

Not quite my objective.

In the cab on the way in from Reagan National on Monday night, I had spotted a BIXI stand! I knew I just needed to shoot proof that Montreal's public bike share program is alive and well in the heart of democracy. It doesn't take me long to find my quarry.

On my way, I pass a Honda Metroplitan chained to a signpost looking like a forlorn pooch temporarily foresaken by its owner.

It reminds me of my first scootering experience in Victoria, so I snap a shot of it and move on. No time for dawdling, I'm hungry. But as I write this, I have the time to be indulgent. So here's a shot of my very first scooter experience which, inexplicably, I haven't posted before.

Earlier in the evening, heading down M in the other direction, I had spotted a beautiful cream-colored Vespa ET that followed my cab, then filtered ahead, only to disappear down a side street before I could snap a picture.

Such nice bikes. You just have to love how those sidewalls light up at night.

Where am I? Right! Boy it's 8:45 and I'm starving. But it has begun to drizzle. I swing down Pennsylvania to 24th and back over to the Fairmont to fetch a brolly.

Armed with the loaner umbrella and feeling invincible, I set off down M in search of Vidalia and the promise of chicken.

Five good city blocks later and M has lost virtually all the charm it had in Georgetown from the cupcake store to the bridge just south of the hotel. Now it's kind of office-y, and drugstore-ish, and drabb-ish, and I'm passing restaurants that are mostly closed-ish, with the only source of sustenance a brightly lit McDonalds. If Vidalia is a bust, do I do McDonalds? I shake off the wisp of thought, and forge ahead.

There! Across the street, Vidalia.

I scurry across the street feeling like the scofflaw jay walker that I am. Hey! I'm a Montrealer. We invented jay-walking. It's an art, it's efficient, not a crime, OK?

Hmmm. The restaurant is downstairs. There's a guy sitting on the stairs on his cell, looking a little dejected and, maybe desperate? His back is to me. If he was wearing scruffy clothes, I'd turn around and whistle my way over to Micky D's for chicken nuggets. But this guy's in a suit still. He might be an investment banker, and this might be his first night on the mean streets. I shrug, decide to chance it, and gingerly sidestep him as I head down below street level, into the unknown abyss.

Nice place once you're down here. Now I'm worried that my casual attire or the late hour might earn me a box of McNuggets after all. I glance at my watch and look for anyone else in jeans.

No cause for concern After a brief consult with the powers that be, the hostess offers me a very nice table where I have a view of the bar, and of a private room emitting clinking sounds and occasional polite applause that wafts out of the open frosted glass door and mingles appropriately with the jazz tracks piped in by unseen speakers. Very nice indeed.

I've come to this slice of heaven in spite of the fact that the hoped-for fried chicken is only offered on the lower brow lunch menu. The dinner menu is all braised bison short ribs and crispy duck breast, and foie gras au torchon, and such. Hey, I can shift gears.

My waiter soon presents himself. Very cool-looking dude, all in black jeans and shirt, cornrows, looks like the kind of guy you'd like to have as a cool friend, might own a bar in the islands, with a hint of Jamaica in the tone of his voice, and secretly you know he is way too cool to hang around with the likes of you.

I gingerly mention that I was hoping for real fried chicken, but I know it's not on the menu and would be pleased to indulge in some other southern fare.

My cool dude smiles a nice cool dude smile and encouragingly says he'll have a word with the chef. The chef is way cool too, because they let the menu slide, and in the way I imagine southern comfort to be, indulge my desire.

While I wait, the amuse-bouches that now seem ubiquitous and de rigueur make their way to the starched table cloth before me. Oh my dear Lord, I do believe I have found the ante-room to heaven and I am in it.

I now know this is going to kick ass! A beautiful bent wood Scandinavian-looking breadbasket comes with a miniature trifecta of corn bread, traditional dinner roll, and a Vidalia onion brioche, accompanied by a ramekin duo of whipped Amish butter sprinkled with sea salt and a Vidalia onion marmalade.

Now you're thinking that in my overworked, sleep-deprived, meeting-numbed skull, I have lost all perspective and that nothing can be this good. Dream on you silly reader.

There it now sits.

Three perfect, perfectly trimmed, perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked, perfectly beautiful, impossibly crisp pieces of southern fried chicken, resting on what the cool-dude later described off-handedly, with I assume to be false modesty, as black pepper gravy. He then apologized for having had to substitute Vidalia's signature Mac & Cheese for the promised mashed potatoes, saying that it was just as well, since the chef used heavy cream in equal parts with potatoes in his recipe, so the three cheese Mac & Cheese was the obvious healthy choice.

As you can see, my feast was rounded out by beautifully presented and confit-like collared greens as a vegetable antidote to the other portions of the meal.

Do you get my point that you have to now start planning a visit to DC just so you can eat at Vidalia? Chatting with the owner, I find out that this slice of bliss has been in business for 18 years. That's an elephant age for a restaurant.

It's already tomorrow, and I have to be up at the crack o'dawn. So this post has to come to an end now.

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The copyright in all text and photographs, except as noted, belongs to David Masse.

About Life on two wheels

Welcome

I am David Masse, and this is Life on two wheels.

Life on two wheels began as a way to explore my decision to commute to my job in downtown Montreal from my home in the suburbs on a Vespa motor scooter, and the byline for my journal was the Scoot Commute. Today I live in Toronto, I've expanded the scope of topics I cover here, and I've added a YouTube channel as well.

Over time my life on two wheels became much more than a scooter commuting story. My Vespa and my web and video journals became a gateway to wonderful new experiences, remarkable adventures, and enduring friendships.

The links at the top of the page make it easier for you access the information in this journal in a more useful way, organized by topic, as well as a link to the YouTube video journals.

If I've helped you, and if I've entertained you along the way, then I've done what I set out to do. Please feel free to post comments, I love to hear from readers and viewers, so don't be shy. I even do requests, and will do my best to dig up information to help readers out.

I've also hosted guest posts, most recently an excellent post by Jim Mandle that came out of an e-mail exchange.

It's all good fun, a multifaceted web and YouTube journal where I publish articles with useful insights for enjoying life, embracing the present, stepping out, living, seeing, writing, being, and the occasional rant.

Most recently I learned that Life on two wheels made it well into the top 100 motorcycle blogs in the world.